


You've Got Us Feeling All Right

by fairy911911



Series: 30 Day Cheesy Tropes Challenge [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bartender Dean Winchester, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, pianist castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-04
Updated: 2014-06-04
Packaged: 2018-02-03 09:26:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1739618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairy911911/pseuds/fairy911911
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He about to start another set when a pint sloshed down in front of him. He looked up to see an angular face and soft eyes staring down at him. He was the new bartender - Doug or Dean or something. The man flashed a small smile. “I thought you could use a break.”</p>
<p>Castiel squinted in confusion. “Shouldn't you be working at the bar?” he asked plainly. </p>
<p>“I’m on break, Benny’s covering for me,” the guy said with a role of his eyes. The new guy reached for a nearby chair and dragged it right up the piano. “Anyways, you look lonely and sad and needed some company. And a good drink.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	You've Got Us Feeling All Right

**Author's Note:**

> Day 5: Bartender AU
> 
> The title is taken from Billy Joel's "Piano Man," which is the basis for this fic. I know it gets cheesy. This is the cheesy trope challenge. Sue me.
> 
> I don't own supernatural or the characters, only the words.

Castiel didn’t need to stop playing to know the time. The already small bar had become increasing more cramped as steady stream of regulars flowed in from the city streets. Just like it always had at nine of Saturdays, just like it always will. The previous stillness shifted into a quiet hum, but it wasn’t happy. On the contrary, this roadhouse was for the down-and-out, life’s rejects, the folks with no where else to go on a Saturday night. It was a collective lost dream and regrettable life. People came to drown their sorrows in whisky and hope they could forget until morning. Utterly depressing.

That never stopped Castiel from playing. His fingers, inspired by the familiar audience, danced across the keys as if of their own accord. The movements were automatic; he had to play. It had come to be a kind of therapy for him, like the drinking was for the customers. Alcohol tended to to do nothing for him, be he could get high off the notes of a song, transporting himself away from mess of his own life. And it seemed to help the bar goers as well, soothing them in their troubled times.

He looked over to where the waitress Jo had predictably stopped working. She had sat herself down next to a suit nursing a beer and seemed to be in a heated rant about something important to her. When Jo was passionate she could get going. The poor man seemed to be taking it in rather well, even offering his drink. She grabbed the pint and took a long gulp. He normally would chastise her for drinking on the job, but not tonight. Jo’s mother had been in a pretty bad car crash and was banged up pretty well. He could empathize. Everyone needed a drink tonight.

He saw Chuck, aspiring writer, sit in the corner, pen clutched in his hand but pad of paper blank. Just like it was every Saturday he came. He took his mandatory swig of gin and tonic and glared at the offending page, as if it were the reason he was without inspiration. Chuck had been trying to write a novel for over a year. As far as Castiel was concerned he never got past the first word.

The sounds of the bar quieted slightly, and he looked down to find that his fingers had finished the song without his knowledge. His mind could drift off and he could finish without giving it a thought: that’s how routine this was.

He about to start another set when a pint sloshed down in front of him. He looked up to see an angular face and soft eyes staring down at him. He was the new bartender - Doug or Dean or something. The man flashed a small smile. “I thought you could use a break.”

Castiel squinted in confusion. “Shouldn’t you be working at the bar?” he asked plainly. Honest, direct, not judgmental, he told himself.

“I’m on break, Benny’s covering for me,” the guy said with a role of his eyes. Castiel looked over the man’s shoulders to see the huge bartender working the group. The new guy reached for a nearby chair and dragged it right up the piano. “Anyways, you look lonely and sad and needed some company. And a good drink.” He tapped the pint in front of Castiel.

He eyed the glass suspiciously. The man gave an encouraging nod. Castiel hesitantly reached for the drink and brought the glass to his lips. The cool, bitter liquid ran down his throat. When he sat the glass down he saw that the bartender had a pleased smile on his face. Endearing, in a strange way.

Castiel’s gaze traveled down to the amber liquid beneath him. “You know, everyone in here is probably sad and lonely,” he finally said. He wasn’t special. He didn’t deserve more attention than anyone else.

The man gave small laugh. “Yeah, but they’re not as cute as you.” Castiel’s head shot up. The guy just let out a lighthearted laugh. “The name’s Dean.”

He felt a flutter in his stomach and a kind of uneasiness that almost felt good. He wasn’t used to this, people coming up and speaking to him, and certainly no one as attractive as Dean. He saw Dean raise his eyebrows in amused expectation. Oh, right, it was customary to supply one’s name during introductions. “Castiel.”

Dean’s face friendly grin. “So Cas,” he asked, “why are you so upset?”

“Why do you think I’m upset?” he retorted?

Dean huffed. “I’ve been watching you for the past hour and you’ve looked miserable the entire time, and I can see it in your eyes: totally lost and not quite here.” He placed his hand on Castiel’s upper arm and gave a light squeeze. “What’s going on?”

Castiel weighed his options. He could tell the man to get lost, but for some reason Dean didn’t make him want to run away from all contact. In fact, he was drawn to the warm personality. He could lie, but at this point it seemed to exhausting of a possibility. He took a swig of beer and a deep breath.

“My sister Anna has cancer,” he began. He looked to Dean to gauge his reaction. The man still and attentive and his emotions masterfully masked. He looked at his hands, unsure of what to say next. “Breast. Stage four. There’s nothing we can do.” He took a shaky breath. The words were pushing out, now, flowing out faster than he could process them. “We found out about two months ago, and only now have the symptoms started to appear. Honestly, I didn’t think it could happen to us. I mean, I knew it happened, but it always seemed so distant and impersonal. But now... She’s my little sister, she’s all I have left. She’s going to die and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

His eye’s stung. A drop of water was rolling by his cheek. He tried to take a breath and all that came was a racked sob. God, he was pathetic. Crying about his problems to a practical stranger in a stupid bar like some emotional drunk. What was his life coming to?

Castiel’s thoughts were interrupted by the weight of two strong arms wrapping themselves around him. Dean gently rocked him, whispering soothing nothings in his ear. “It’s okay, Cas. You’re so brave. Let it out. I’ve got you. I’ll get better. I promise.”

The two stayed in that position for years. Or maybe it was a few minutes. Time seemed to be irrelevant in Dean’s embrace. The only clock was the beating of their hearts.

When Castiel finally calmed down, Dean stroked his back. “Do you know ‘Carry On My Wayward Son?” he asked. Castiel was beyond confused with the question and could only shake his head in response. Dean unwound himself from Castiel, and the pianist mourned the immediate loss of warmth and comfort. Dean sat next to him on the bench, shoulders touching. He placed his hands on keys with delicate care and began to play and sing.

 

> _Carry on my wayward son_
> 
> _There'll be peace when you are done_
> 
> _Lay your weary head to rest_
> 
> _Don't you cry no more_

His the tune was slow and reverent with crests and troughs of emotion. Dean’s voice was hypnotizing. It was soft, but gripping, and it left Castiel on the edge of his seat. The noise of the busy bar died out as the entire room turned its attention to Dean. But he didn’t seem to notice. He kept his focus on Castiel entirely, singing the words to him, as if they were the only two the room, in the world. It was beautiful.

Dean pressed down on the final chord and the notes filled the room until they faded into oblivion. There was a moment of silence, of appreciation, that gripped the bar, but as soon as it came it went, and the hum of life rose up once again. Castiel didn’t mind. He was too busy gazing at Dean in awe to mind.

“I wish I could kiss you,” he murmured, unaware the words were spoken until they had already passed his lips and hung heavy in the air between them. Castiel look down as he felt his face grow hot. Of course he would ruin it. Idiot.

But Dean was leaning down and pressing his lips against Castiel’s. He instinctively moved his against the other man’s. The kiss was chaste, but full of such care and tenderness that Castiel was certain it was the best he’d ever had. Dean pulled away slowly. He gently took Castiel’s hand in his own. His thumb drew random patterns on the back of his hand. Dean’s eyes searched Castiel’s. “Do you want me to stay with you tonight?” It was barely a whisper. Nothing sounded better.

Castiel gave a small nod and leaned in for another kiss. For the first time in a long time, something finally felt wonderful.


End file.
